


Miracles

by VigilantSycamore



Series: The Batman Saga [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Original Character(s), References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-10 01:12:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12900786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VigilantSycamore/pseuds/VigilantSycamore
Summary: Three years ago, Bruce Wayne was stranded in the East China Sea. Since then, he's come home to Gotham and become an urban legend as the Bat of the East End. But his mission will now take him away from his city, to confront the drug cartels poisoning many places across the world.Or, Batman goes on a trip to fight drug cartels and meets his first superhuman.





	1. Chapter One

**East China Sea**

**Three Years Ago**

The wooden board was about the size of a human being and held the chalk outline of one. Inside that outline were four concentric ovals, creating five divisions. The one outside all of the ovals was marked with a six. The next division in was marked with a seven, then an eight, then a nine, and finally an X - right where the heart would be.

A knife embedded itself in the outline’s shoulder, outside of the ovals. Another struck the chalk figure in the leg.

“Why do you _never_ go for the kill?” an Australian man asked.

Bruce Wayne walked up to the board and took out the two knives, placing them back in their sheaths on the harness he wore across his bare chest.

“I don’t need to kill them, do I?” he answered. “Poor Steve here’s got stab wounds in his leg and shoulder already, he’s not going to be much of a threat.”

“Yeah, but he’s even less of a threat when he’s _dead_ ,” the Australian pointed out.

“Whatever Harkness, as you can see I’m getting good at this,” Bruce continued as they walked back to the airplane wreck they called home. “That was farther than any time before.”

“Yeah, but I’m still not going to let you use the boomerangs, Wayne. That’s my schtick.”

Inside the airplane, Oliver Queen and Yao Yin (though she preferred to go by Shado) were still sparring.

“How long have they been going at it?” Harkness asked when he saw them.

“They’d been sparring for half an hour when we left…” Bruce checked the shadow cast by the sundial he’d constructed outside. “Two and a half hours ago. That’s three hours, since judging by the amount of sweat they’ve been doing this continuously.”

Shado disarmed Oliver and knocked him to the ground.

“Best fourteen out of twenty-seven?” Oliver suggested.

“You’re on, Queen,” Shado said.

“Right,” Bruce said, picking up a net. “I’m going to check the fish traps. _You_ , on the other hand,” he said, tapping Harkness’ shoulder, “get to watch these two spar until one of them passes out. Have fun.” Bruce left before Harkness had time to protest. He was getting good at speedy exits.

They’d placed five fish traps, which Bruce had made, at the edge of the beach at low tide. Now it was low tide again, meaning the traps should contain dead fish that would provide food for the four maroons.

Bruce had checked all but one of the traps, finding fish in three of them, and was on his way to check the fifth, when he heard a voice coming from the sea. Somebody was calling for help.

Bruce dropped the net with the fish inside onto the sand and ran into the water. He swam as fast as he could towards the voice. As he got closer - noting in the back of his mind that the person calling for help sounded female - Bruce remembered what he knew about rescues like this. He didn’t have a rescue can with him, but he should be able to do the rest.

The first thing he needed to do was talk to the person he’s rescuing. The first thing Bruce said to her - she was a woman with blonde hair - was “Don’t worry, I’m going to help you.” He put his left arm around her and turned around to swim back to shore.

Swimming with only one free arm is difficult, but Bruce managed it. His right hand cut through the water and he kept kicking the sea to propel himself and the woman forwards. He kept talking to her as they neared the shore, trying to stop her from panicking - nothing major, just stuff like the weather or the species of fish he’d caught that day. The technical term was ‘shooting the sh**’.

Once the water was shallow enough to stand up in, the woman ran onto the beach and started coughing up water. Bruce followed her onto the shore. Once she stopped coughing, she started trying to catch her breath.

“You need to keep a steady breath rate,” Bruce said, “so when I say ‘one’, breathe in, and when I say ‘two’, breathe out. Is that okay?” The woman nodded, and Bruce began to say “one… two” at a steady pace. Once she was breathing steadily on her own, he stopped.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Don’t thank me just yet: it’s almost sunset, and out here you’ll freeze to death,” Bruce said. “Come on, I’ll take you somewhere you can get shelter.”

He led her back to the airplane, and they continued talking on the way there.

“You look familiar,” the woman said. “Have I seen you somewhere before?”

“Probably,” Bruce said. “What’s your name anyway?”

“I’m Sara. You?”

“Bruce.”

“Pleased to meet you, Bruce.”

“You too, Sara.”

**Gotham City, USA**

**The Present Day**

Bruce stared out the private jet’s window and mentally rehearsed his plan.

“Oi. Bruce. Anyone in there?” Alfred said, snapping Bruce out of his thoughts.

“What is it, Alfred?”

“Are you sure you have everything?” Alfred asked.

“ _Yes_ , Alfred, I’m sure,” Bruce replied, rolling his eyes. “I only checked five times.” He held up a large and full rucksack to prove his point.

“You’ve got the batsuit, then?”

“Yes.”

“Body armour?”

“I’ve got that too.”

“Flares?”

“Alfred. I’ve got _everything_. Trust me.”

“I will,” the butler replied. “As long as you do in fact turn out to have everything. I don’t want you to end up re-enacting Alberta.”

“ _Neither_ of us wants me to end up re-enacting Alberta, Alfred.”

“Good. And don’t forget to say your goodbyes before leaving this time,” Alfred told Bruce before getting up and leaving the cabin to “visit the bar”.

As Alfred walked out, Harriet walked in and saw Bruce with the rucksack.

“So,” she began. Bruce’s eyes widened as he already knew what she was about to ask. “Have you packed everything?”

/\\-^|^-/\

Before leaving, Bruce had gone to the Docklands and placed a tracking device on a ship. As Matches Malone, he’d learned that this ship was one of those bringing drugs into Gotham. The next stop for this one was Santa Prisca, which is where they were taking the jet.

Bruce’s plan was to give the drug cartels a very good reason to stay out of Gotham.

Alfred and Harriet had joined him on the trip. Leslie would have come too, but her clinic came first; and John had declined the opportunity so that he could stay with his siblings.

As for what would happen in Gotham while he was gone, Bruce had planned ahead. The Bat had gone for seventeen days without a sighting, until some criminals decided to take advantage of his absence and the GCPD’s lack of manpower. That was six days ago, and those criminals had quickly found themselves on the receiving end of the Bat’s combat prowess. The city was going to be safe for a while.

/\\-^|^-/\

Underwater visibility is measured in terms of the depth at which a Secchi disk can no longer be seen. This disk is a circular symbol divided into four equal sections, where two vertically opposite sections are black and the other two are plain white, and it is lowered into the water on a pole or line. In Caribbean Sea, a Secchi disk can be seen as far as thirty and a half metres down - one hundred feet.

The man pursuing the ship swam forty metres below the surface.

Of course, the measurement only applies when visibility concerns what normal human eyes can see, and this man’s eyes, with their pale milk-coloured irises, were not normal. With his eyes, he could see a Secchi disk as far as one hundred metres below the surface of the Caribbean Sea - not that he needed to see in order to pursue his quarry. He could navigate just as easily by sensing water currents as they travelled over his skin, or by perceiving the temperature of the water and the charges of the sodium and chloride ions dissolved in it, not to mention the sounds and echoes underwater.

That was not all that was abnormal about this man. He was currently swimming at a steady speed of 56 kilometres per hour and enduring a water pressure of three point one kilopascals.

And he was hunting.

/\\-^|^-/\

The port was one of the more opulent parts of the island. The town was full of shining white buildings that clung to the hillside and the port itself was flanked by pristine sea walls. The town had been struck by a hurricane a few months ago, but the drug lords who owned it had kept the port, the restaurants, and the villas clean.

The drug dealers got off the ship and entered one of the cafés. They had some time before the man they were waiting for arrived.

Bruce was already in the town, waiting for them. Alfred and Harriet were back at the villa that he happened to own (not that anyone knew Bruce Wayne was in Santa Prisca). Bruce had left, disguised, to retrieve the tracking device and get ready to strike.

When he reached the shore some distance away from the port, Bruce waded into the water. He had to sidestep past some debris from the hurricane before the water was deep enough to swim the rest of the way. When he reached the boat, Bruce took off his waterproof gloves and jacket and gripped the hull tightly with his dry arms. The side of the ship he was on was facing the sea, not the harbour, so nobody saw him. Slowly but surely, he started to climb.

/\\-^|^-/\

It was night when the second ship arrived. Whereas the first ship’s hull was covered in faded red paint, this one was a menacing black. Where the first ship was simplistic, this one was all sharp edges.

A metal stair ladder with a handrail came over the railing and down onto the concrete of the port. One by one, five men in black armour came down the ladder. The first four wore simple black helmets, but the last had a different mask: a wider, slightly domed helmet with two tubes coming from the top of the helmet down to a reinforced oxygen tank on his back; and a blood-red visor.

Watching through his binoculars from a distance, Bruce recognised this man. He was in Santa Prisca then.

Black Manta.

/\\-^|^-/\

Manta’s ship was carrying drugs. The plan was that Manta would give the cartels the drugs in exchange for their money - at least officially. Bruce saw this as an opportunity, and he had no intention of passing it up.

There would be seven armed men at the meeting, all of them wielding semi-automatic or fully automatic weapons. Bruce put on reinforced body armour under his suit: each segment of armour was made of tungsten carbide and had a shock-absorbing spongy layer on the underside, with metal plates inside the parts of the armour protecting his torso and major arteries. He’d built it himself, the hard part was getting the materials without raising questions about where he got the money.

In his utility belt, Bruce packed smoke bombs, flash grenades and flares as well as five throwing knives - custom made by him, and designed so that both the blade and the hilt resembled the wings of a bat. Beneath his cowl, he had specially designed earphones. They’d shield his ears from loud noises, like explosions, but allow speech to be heard anyway. He’d learned from his encounter with Carl Fern. Bruce also tinted goggles to protect his eyes from bright lights.

He had a plan of attack, and he was suited up.

The Bat was ready to strike.

/\\-^|^-/\

The five men from the cartel were wearing leather and denim, Manta’s soldiers were wearing body armour. All four of Manta’s men held fully automatic machine guns, while three of the cartel’s men had semi-automatic guns.

Black Manta was the first to speak. “ _The money first_ ,” he said in Spanish.

The leader of the cartel’s group stepped forwards. “ _I don’t trust you enough for that_ ,” he said. “ _The drugs first, friend._ ”

Black Manta stepped towards the man. “ _I find your lack of faith_ …” Manta grabbed the dealer’s right hand and twisted his arm. There was a series of snaps as bone, tendons, ligaments and flesh tore. The cartel’s leader fell to the ground, screaming. _“Disturbing_ ,” Manta finished.

From his vantage point, the Bat knew what was coming. As the shock wore off, the cartel’s men would level their guns at Manta and his soldiers. Before they could even pull the trigger, they’d be shot dead by their opponents. The Bat couldn’t let that happen. He took a flash grenade from his belt and tossed it between the two groups, following that up with a smoke bomb.

The flash and the bang stunned them, and the smoke compromised their visibility. Manta and his soldiers turned on the flashlights attached to their helmets. The Bat leapt from the rooftop he’d perched on and ran towards them.

Suddenly, there was a sound of metal groaning as it tore in two. The cartel’s ship began to sink beneath the waves and part of the hull soared through the sky, landing on one of Manta’s soldiers.

The Bat stopped. That wasn’t normal to see, but considering Manta was involved… maybe someone who had enhancements? He’d come prepared for that, fortunately.

A man leapt from the water onto the battlefield, holding two large, jagged pieces of the hull in his hands. He landed and stabbed two Manta soldiers. The remainder of the cartel decided to call it quits and run away, while the man charged towards Black Manta himself.

He tossed one part of the hull at Manta, who caught it in his hand. Before Manta could retaliate, the attacker reached him and stabbed Manta with the second piece of the hull.

It went through a gap between two of the plates in the armour.

Manta collapsed, clutching his side to try to stop the bleeding.

The Bat could tell this new fighter was going to kill Black Manta. He couldn’t let that happen. He took out one of his throw knives and did something he rarely had to do: he went for what would qualify for a kill shot if the target didn’t have enhancements. The knife struck soft flesh below the fighter’s ribcage…

And fell to the ground without even breaking the man’s skin.

The Bat froze. ‘ _Mirakuru can’t do that. Not even Venom can do that._ ’

The fighter turned to face the Bat.

He was angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also find this story on Tumblr or Spacebattles. I'm vigilantsycamore on those sites as well.
> 
> Please leave comments. What did you think of this chapter?


	2. Chapter Two

**East China Sea**

**Three Years Ago**

Things were going so well until Bruce decided to warn Sara that Shado and Oliver were the only people oblivious to the fact that Shado and Oliver wanted to bone.

Sara stopped in her tracks. “Oliver? Oliver _Queen_?”

“That’s him, yeah. Why, do you know him?”

“You know, I think I find my way to the airplane well enough on my own. You told me how to get there already anyway. You can go check that last fish trap before the birds get it.” Sara quickened her pace, leaving Bruce behind.

As the distance between him and Sara increased, realization came over Bruce. “Oh.” He stopped walking for a moment. Eventually, he made a decision. “I do _not_ want to miss this.” He slipped between the trees, taking the shortcut to the plane.

Oliver and Shado were taking turns shooting arrows at Steve the Target when Bruce emerged from the forest.

“Hey Oliver,” Bruce began, “when you were on that yacht, was there a woman there with you? Blonde, yea high, really pissed off at you after whatever happened? Because she’s on her way here to punch you in the face.”

Oliver looked confused. “Sara’s-“

Then Sara punched Oliver in the face and he fell on the ground. “Screw you, Queen!” she yelled. Then she looked at Shado and smiled. “You must be Shado,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m Sara, nice to meet you.”

Shado was confused by now, but she shook Sara’s hand anyway. “Why did you punch Oliver?” she asked.

“I deserved it,” Oliver groaned, still on the ground.

“Oliver cheated on his girlfriend with me, brought me on that yacht, and now Bruce is telling me that the bastard’s already moved on and is into you now,” Sara explained.

“You cheated on the woman you loved!?” Shado yelled at Oliver.

“Oh it gets worse,” Sara said. “His girlfriend - ex-girlfriend now, I guess - is my _sister_.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows, and Shado kicked Oliver.

“I deserved that too,” Oliver said.

“Damn.” Bruce said. “So you,” he pointed at Oliver, “had sex with your girlfriend’s sister on your yacht, and you,” Bruce pointed at Sara, “slept with your sister’s boyfriend on his yacht. Are you clichés?” he asked flatly. “Are you actual f***ing clichés? Also, I’m pretty sure that wasn’t a two-person tango, so you were both at fault there. Just saying.”

“Wait,” Shado said. “How do you know if Oliver’s already moved on?”

“Bruce told me how badly you two want to bone.”

“That wasn’t what I said!” Bruce protested. “I just said that you two are the only ones who don’t realize how badly you want to bone.”

“Truer words have never been spoken,” Digger Harkness said as he walked up to the group. “So, how about an introduction?”

In less than an hour, the five of them were sitting inside the plane, around a fire that Oliver had made, eating the fish that Bruce had collected, and Bruce decided to ask the question that had been on his mind since Sara stormed off to punch Oliver.

“The _Queen’s Gambit_ sunk months ago,” Bruce said to Sara. “What happened to you between then and now?”

“I was… captured,” Sara began. “Taken on board some pirate ship. Some of the crewmen there were sadists, they liked to beat the new prisoners. The captain knew and he wanted to catch them in the act, so when they…”

Oliver saw that she was having trouble reliving those months. “Sara, you don’t have to tell us about what happened if you don’t want to,” he assured her.

Sara smiled briefly, but waved his concerns off. “No, I want to.” She took a deep breath. “When it was my turn, he showed up and shot them all. Except one. I’d already killed him myself. Manta was so impressed, he made me part of the crew, so when I overheard him talking to his first mate about this island, I-“

Harkness interrupted her. “Wait, wait, wait, whoa, wait, whoa, whoa, wait, whoa. _Manta_!? He’s coming _here_!? Right,” he said as he got to his feet. “I’m leaving. _You_ all can f*** yourselves until Manta shows up, but I for one am not dying with my hand down my pants,” a knife flew between his legs and embedded itself in the ground behind him as he spoke, “are you trying to castrate me?” he finished without changing his tone.

“No, that was a warning shot,” Bruce said. “If I’d been _trying_ , you’d already be bleeding.” Bruce bit off a piece of fish, chewed and swallowed. “So,” he asked Harkness, “who is this ‘Manta’?” Bruce turned to Sara again. “And what does he want with the island?”

“They call him _Black Manta_ ,” Harkness said. “He started out as a Somalian pirate, but he’s so much more than that now. He’s head of the world’s biggest - and possibly the world’s only - sea based crime syndicate, and he is absolutely ruthless.”

“He’s after something called Mirakuru,” Sara said.

Bruce and Harkness paled. Harkness would have run if Bruce hadn’t placed a finger on the hilt of another throw knife.

Oliver was just confused. “What’s Mirakuru?”

“I’m guessing you’ve heard of Miraclum?” Bruce said.

Oliver nodded. “That performance enhancer that was banned in nineteen forty-one. It was the precursor to Viper and Venom.”

“Well, several countries tried to weaponise it, even after they started banning it. Mirakuru was Imperial Japan’s attempt. They succeeded in making the changes permanent, but the side effects were made permanent too. Between the amplified pain and the elevated oxygen use, the project was deemed a dead end. All the samples were destroyed-“

“Except for one set,” Boomerang finished. “That was on a submarine last seen somewhere in this sea.” He turned to Sara. “And you’re saying Manta’s looking for it here?”

“That’s what I heard,” Sara said.

“We can’t let someone like Manta get his hands on something that dangerous,” Shado said. “Which means we have to find the Mirakuru before he does.”

**Santa Prisca**

**The Present Day**

Bruce was fairly sure he was screwed.

What he knew for certain was that the opponent he was up against now was absolutely pissed and enhanced to a degree Bruce hadn’t seen before. A direct hit from a recently sharpened throw knife bouncing off of the flexible skin without leaving a scratch? Bruce wouldn’t even sure that was _possible_ if he hadn’t just seen it with his own eyes.

A small part of his brain was tossing out every hypothesis from extraterrestrial genetic experimentation to a hyper-advanced phantom nation (hey, that rhymes), but the rest of Bruce’s brain was focused on how to leave this fight unpulverized.

The superhuman charged at him, so Bruce leapt out of the way, throwing a smoke bomb.

Step one in fighting an opponent so far above your weight class: sensory incapacitation.

Unfortunately it didn’t work. Even as Bruce ran almost soundlessly, the superhuman leapt towards him. Bruce’s lightning-fast reflexes were the only thing that saved him as he dodged the superhuman’s punch and darted away from his foe.

If smoke wasn’t going to work, maybe it was time for Bruce to change tactics. He threw a flash grenade at the superhuman. The grenade exploded and the superhuman screamed. The noise and light must have caused a sensory overload.

Bruce threw two more grenades, which landed behind the superhuman. The explosions kept the superhuman incapacitated for a few more moments.

/\\-^|^-/\

Arthur’s ears rang and his eyes stung.

Manta’s new partner was clever. He’d tried a smokescreen, and when that failed he’d bombarded Arthur with flash grenades.

It wasn’t just the light and the noise that was the problem. The heat from the chemical reaction made the heat receptors in Arthur’s skin burn. He was already at a disadvantage because of the sluggish way sound moved in air compared to water, which made echolocation a slower process, and because of the much lower ion concentration in air compared to saltwater. The flash grenades made it so much worse.

In spite of the pain assaulting his senses, Arthur tried to think. Manta’s accomplice hadn’t attacked him yet, which meant he must be either running away or rescuing Manta. Either way, Manta was Arthur’s target.

He turned to face the dark blur where he’d left Manta and, without waiting for his senses to recover, charged.

/\\-^|^-/\

Bruce’s reflexes saved him again.

He’d headed towards Manta with the aim of bringing him back to the villa and convincing him to explain who - and _what_ \- the superhuman was. It was at that point that the superhuman came barrelling through the dissipating smoke, by the looks of it aiming to trample Manta.

Bruce stopped the superhuman by administering a knuckle-duster-enhanced uppercut to the jaw. A normal human’s jaw would have been broken by such an impact, even a typical enhanced human would be in extreme pain afterwards.

The superhuman staggered back, but he was only slightly fazed.

Bruce followed his first hit up with two strikes to the temple and one to the diaphragm.

_That_ stunned the superhuman. Bruce would have tried to finish the fight, but he didn’t know how difficult that would be and his best source of information was about to heal from his injury and escape.

Bruce picked up Manta in his arms - no easy feat considering the latter’s muscle density - and ran out of the port, into the jeep that Alfred had driven him here in.

“What happened to _him_?” Alfred asked. Bruce had already explained to him, Harriet and John who Black Manta was and why he was such a threat.

Bruce took off Manta’s mask before replying, “A superhuman attacked.”

“Superhuman as in enhanced?”

“Superhuman as in _superhuman,_ ” Bruce said as he put Manta in the left back seat, put the seatbelt on Manta and took the seat next to him. “Whoever he is, he can tear a ship apart and throw knives bounce off his skin. I managed to stun him, but he’s going to recover soon.”

Alfred took the hint and broke the speed limit.

As they drove, Bruce thought about the superhuman. He’d been more focused on escaping than on analysing his opponent’s appearance, but now Bruce had time to do the latter. The superhuman had a long and wild beard, milky white irises, and strange slits on his neck and shoulders - three on each side. He was strangely built: muscular like a swimmer, but with a higher-than-average proportion of body fat.

The front fender of another car sailed past them. Black Manta mumbled as he started to regain consciousness. Alfred drove faster.

“Who…” Manta said. “Who are you peop-“

Bruce elbowed Manta in the face, knocking him out again.

/\\-^|^-/\

Everything seemed faster in the surface world. Arthur supposed that must be to do with the difference with the speed of sound slowing down his perception, and with the fact that he just couldn’t run as quickly as he could swim. With that in mind, it wasn’t a surprise that Manta’s helper managed to get away.

No matter.

Even if his senses weren’t as sharp, Arthur could still track the jeep. Once his ears stopped ringing, he’d be able to hear the engine. Even before then, intuition told him the direction in which the man in the bat costume and Black Manta were travelling.

Well, it was actually his sense of smell, but one would be surprised by how little olfactory information humans, super or otherwise, recognise as olfactory.

Arthur walked faster, following the jeep.

/\\-^|^-/\

Black Manta woke up tied to a chair. His eyes widened when he realized his helmet was off, which meant that even if he _did_ manage to break the ropes, he wouldn’t be able to use his strength for long.

And as he strained against the ropes, he realized that breaking them would take even him a lot of effort.

“Who was that superhuman back there?” somebody asked him.

Manta turned his head to look at the person who’d spoken. His voice had been low and rough, and he was wearing a grey suit, with a cape and cowl that… was he wearing a _bat costume_?

“The ‘superhuman’?” Manta replied. “That was _Arthur Carré_.”

“What’s the full extent of his abilities?”

Manta laughed. “In the water or on land? Because whatever you’ve seen him do, I guarantee that he can do _at least_ tenfold in the ocean.”

If ‘Dracula’ was fazed by that answer at all, he gave no sign of it. “Those slits on his neck. Are they gills?”

“You’re a smart one, aren’t you? Yes, Carré can breathe underwater.”

“What’s the origin of his abilities?”

Manta laughed again. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“Alright: _Atlantis_.”

“The mythical lost city?”

“It exists, Dracula. You remember those geological oceanography studies that found evidence of a failed continent in the North Atlantic?”

Dracula nodded. “If they’re to be believed, the continent sunk around eight thousand years before the common era.”

“Well there were already people living there when that happened,” Dracula said. “A fully-fledged civilisation, one that had already developed agriculture, metallurgy and even industry. And when the landmass began to collapse, their scientists altered the population’s genetic makeup. They made it possible for themselves to survive beneath the waves, and they’ve been living there ever since.”

“If that’s true, how come they haven’t come for us yet?”

“I don’t know the whole story. But think about it: if a landmass the size of Mexico collapses and the people living on it are altered for an underwater life, that society is going to collapse isn’t it? They’ve been rebuilding and adapting for the past ten millennia, and they only started coming into contact with the surface world again in the last thousand years.”

“So Arthur Carré is one of them?”

“Oh, that he isn’t,” Manta said. “He’s a _half-breed_. Half Atlantean, half Guadeloupean. His father was a marine explorer and his mother was an Atlantean noblewoman. Oh, and there’s one more thing you need to know about Carré.”

“And that is?”

“He’s coming here. See, he wants me dead because I killed his father. And I want him dead because he killed mine. So you might want to let me fight him for you.”

Dracula didn’t let Manta out of the chair. Instead, he just left.

/\\-^|^-/\

Bruce decided to hold off on internally debating the plausibility of Black Manta’s claims about Atlantis (“an underwater civilisation isn’t _that_ far-fetched,” part of his mind said, “at least compared to those pilots who claimed they saw a volcanic island populated by Amazon warriors hidden by the Vlatavan Storm System”) and prepare for Arthur Carré’s arrival. He’d rather avoid another fight, but he couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t come to that.

The throw knives wouldn’t do any good unless he jammed one of them in Carré’s eyes or gills (he’d rather not), but Bruce kept two in his utility belt just in case he _would_ need to use them. He also kept one smoke bomb, replacing the rest with flash grenades. He replaced his standard knuckle-dusters with the electrical variant and put two extra flares in his belt. Once he’d gotten all his weapons ready, Bruce – with Alfred’s, John’s and Harriet’s help – placed shock-absorbing mattresses on the balcony.

“What are you going to do when he gets here?” Alfred asked.

“Try to explain the situation,” Bruce replied. “If that fails, I’ll pull out all the stops to win the fight.”

“Just don’t get yourself killed,” Harriet warned. “This is an honest-to-god superhuman we’re talking about.”

“With luck, I won’t be injured _too_ badly,” Bruce assured her. “But I _will_ need you on standby just in case.”

“You can count on us, Bruce,” Harriet said.

“I already am,” Bruce said. “Alfred, you make sure that Manta doesn’t escape.”

“I’ll be waiting,” the butler replied as he took out his rifle.

Bruce nodded.

There was a horrible noise of metal gates being torn of their hinges.

“That will be our guest,” Alfred remarked.

Bruce pulled his cowl on, vaulted over the balcony and jogged through the villa’s garden.

When he saw Arthur Carré, Bruce stopped. “I don’t want to fight you,” he said.

“But I do,” Arthur replied. “Where’s your boss?”

“I don’t work for Manta. Or _with_ him,” Bruce anticipated Arthur’s next question. “I want to take him down too.”

“Then how come you saved his life?”

“Because I don’t believe in vigilante executions. Only a fair and just court should be able to decide if somebody deserves to die.”

“Then _let them_ decide _after_ Manta’s already dead!” Arthur shouted, running at Bruce.

Bruce stepped back, dodging Arthur’s first punch. The second time, he wasn’t so lucky: Arthur’s fist struck Bruce in the gut and sent him flying.

Bruce turned in the air and hit the ground in a three-point landing. The protective padding in his boots and gloves absorbed the impact.

/\\-^|^-/\

Black Manta had finally managed to break his bonds. Now he was sneaking out of the room where he’d been kept. He had to find his helmet and oxygen tank if he wanted to use his power to its full extent.

He came to padlocked door. Manta took the lock in his hand and crushed it, then pulled the door open.

There was a grey-haired man in a suit aiming a gun at him.

“Cheers, mate,” the grey-haired man joked. He had a Cockney accent. “I’ve been wondering how to get that open.”

Manta lunged forward, grabbing the gun’s muzzle with his left hand and slamming his right down on the barrel. The force was enough that when he pulled with his left hand, the barrel bent upwards.

“Oh, that’s how you want to play it,” the grey-haired man said. “Good old-fashioned hand-to-hand.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Bruce stood up straight and assessed the damage: there was pain in his gut, and Bruce wouldn’t have been surprised to find he had internal bleeding. When he moved, something rattled inside his suit. The tungsten carbide plate protecting his abdomen had shattered.

Arthur charged towards Bruce again. “Where is Manta!?” he demanded.

“I won’t let you kill him.”

“Then I’ll just kill you first!”

Bruce threw a flash grenade at Arthur. “You won’t,” he said before the grenade hit.

The bomb exploded and Arthur screamed. “You wouldn’t be the first to try,” Bruce said, throwing another grenade.

/\\-^|^-/\

While the Bat of the East End was fighting the Man from Atlantis, Alfred Pennyworth was fighting Black Manta. The fight was tense and closely matched. Manta had raw power on his side, but Alfred had been in the Royal Marines and the S AS. Raw power wasn’t much good against him on his own. Almost every hit, grab, or touch one attempted was dodged or blocked by the other. Almost.

The first hit that landed was Alfred’s: he slammed his forearm into Manta’s chest, pushing his opponent back.

The second hit was Manta’s: a kick to Alfred’s diaphragm that left the butler without breath.

Third, Alfred grabbed Manta by the shoulders and flipped him onto his back.

Fourth, a haymaker Alfred delivered to Manta’s head.

Fifth, Alfred again. This time, kicking Manta in the knee to forcibly bend his leg and open him up for the sixth hit that landed: an uppercut to the face.

The seventh hit was Manta’s again: he punched Alfred in his pectorals. A rib cracked.

The eighth and ninth were Alfred’s but he cheated, shooting Manta’s knees with a second revolver when Manta was far away enough to justify using the gun.

Then Manta battered Alfred with a series of kicks and punches that left the butler on the ground.

“I’d finish this,” Manta said, “but I’m pressed for time.” He opened a cabinet and found a sniper rifle inside. “Fortunately, I have a spare mask on my ship.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Taking advantage of Arthur’s incapacitation, Bruce rubbed his knuckle-dusters together, charging the electrodes. “In the past decade, I’ve been punched, stabbed, kicked, chocked, and shot,” he said.

Bruce punched Arthur in the jaw and kept talking. “I’ve been cut up with broken glass and left bleeding in a Gotham City alley.”

In the diaphragm, pushing the air out of his opponent’s lungs. “I’ve been shot at by drug enforcers in Rio de Janeiro.”

In the left temple. “Shot at by mercenaries in France, Russia, Syria, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Qurac, and the East China Sea.”

Charged up the electrodes again. “Stabbed and left to die on a sinking ship off the coast of an unpopulated Chinese island.”

Bruce held his fists up. “Should I go on, or do you get the point?”

Arthur swung a fist at Bruce’s head. Bruce ducked, grabbed Arthur’s arm and forced Arthur to the ground. Bruce put Arthur in a choke hold, placed a knee on Arthur’s back and punctuated his speech by slamming Arthur’s head into the ground. “Survival.” Slam. “Is.” Slam. “What.” Slam. “I.” Slam. “Do.” Slam.

Arthur stopped struggling and Bruce stood up. He started to walk away.

And felt a hand with an iron grip grab him by the throat and push him down.

“Survive this,” Arthur said, raising both fists.

Bruce was terrified. If the superhuman slammed those fists down, Bruce would die. So he reached into his belt, took out a flare, lit it and jabbed it into the superhuman’s side.

Arthur screamed in pain as his flesh burnt. Bruce scampered to his feet and started running. Enraged, Arthur seized Bruce’s cape. The Velcro straps gave up and the cape detached from the rest of Bruce’s costume, Arthur’s strength sending the cape flying into his face.

He threw the cape off and zeroed in on Bruce.

A shot rang out and a bullet went through Arthur’s shoulder.

Another shot, and a bullet through his leg.

And then a third bullet went through his lung.

Arthur fell to the ground.

/\\-^|^-/\

Harriet had started running towards the fight when Arthur managed to grab Bruce. Harriet had pulled out her gun, but Bruce managed to turn the fight in his favour. She finally got to the two combatants seconds after Arthur was shot.

Harriet knelt by Arthur’s side, tearing two strips of fabric off of the sleeves of her shirt. She used one to plug the wound in the half-Atlantean’s shoulder, and tied the other around his injured leg. “Bruce, help me turn him over onto his injured side.”

They turned Arthur so that he was lying on his left side and gravity would keep his lung open. While Harriet covered the entry wound with her hand, Bruce sprinted to the villa, and returned with a stretcher, a 14 gauge bore needle and a bag valve mask. He placed the stretcher on the ground behind Arthur. Harriet took her hand off the superhuman’s chest and she and Bruce moved him onto the stretcher.

Bruce put the needle in between Arthur’s ribs so the air could escape from his lung while Harriet put the bag valve mask on Arthur’s face. They lifted the stretcher. Harriet squeezed the bag to keep Arthur breathing as they carried him to the villa.

Once they got Arthur to the first aid center, Bruce hooked him up to IVs that would administer painkillers and fluids to keep blood pressure up. Then he put in a chest tube to drain Arthur’s lungs of the blood.

Meanwhile, Harriet administered first aid to Alfred.

“He’ll make it,” Harriet said. “What about you?”

“I’m fine,” Bruce insisted.

“Listen to your voice, you’re not fine. You can barely even talk! And I can tell you’re still in pain from when he punched you,” Harriet told him.

“I _may_ have internal bleeding,” Bruce admitted, “but that’s not going to-“

“Don’t you tell me it’s not going to be a problem, it damn well _is_  a problem if the inside of your abdomen is bleeding!” Harriet shouted. “Take that suit and armour off so I can assess the damage.”

Bruce obeyed the order. By the end of the assessment, Bruce was sentenced to bed rest until he recovered.

/\\-^|^-/\

Arthur Carré woke up in an infirmary.

He was lying on his back and facing a bare, dark red ceiling.

He turned his head to the left and saw a bare, white wall.

He turned his head to the right and saw two hospital beds like his own.

Arthur sat up. There was an IV in his arm.

“You’re awake,” somebody said. Arthur looked to the right again and saw that a black-haired man had entered the infirmary. “That’s good.”

“Who are you?” Arthur asked.

“Don’t recognise me? I was the one who gave you those burns.”

So the Bat was here too? “Did you… what happened?”

“Manta escaped and shot you. Then he ran. If it wasn’t for my team, you’d be dead.”

Arthur put his feet on the floor and stood up. “Well thank you for not letting that happen. Now let me go so I can find Manta.”

“Not so fast. We’ve got a few things to discuss, you and I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, Bruce is a mortal and Arthur has superpowers. But I have an excuse, trust me! At this point, Arthur has no real training or weaponry, whereas Bruce is trained and armed, giving him enough of an advantage to not utterly lose. As for why Arthur only has his powers right now, well you'll see in the next chapter.  
> Please leave comments, as I appreciate all feedback.


	3. Chapter Three

**The East China Sea**

**Three Years Ago**

They’d been walking through the jungle for hours.

After deciding to find the Mirakuru before Manta did (despite Harkness’s protests that they should just hand the super-soldier formula _over_ to the dangerous pirates), the five tried to figure out where to start looking. Shado suggested a bay on the other side of the island – or rather the cave connected to it.

After much debating, they’d decided the following: the safest way to the bay was to follow the beach, the quickest way involved crossing the minefield in the middle of the island, and the best compromise was to trek through the forest, climb a tall tree, and use ropes to swing across the minefield.

“Couldn’t we just use the… vine… things?” Oliver had said.

“They’re called lianas,” Shado had corrected, “and they don’t work the way they do in Disney movies. If you tried to use one of them to swing across the gap, you’d probably just fall flat on your face.”

When they reached the mines and climbed the tree, Oliver tied one of the grappling hooks that Bruce and Shado had made around his waist, and threw the other end across the gap. It landed between two branches.

“I’m going to do it,” Oliver said.

“Oh no,” Bruce groaned.

“Not the Tarzan yell,” Sara added.

Oliver jumped and did the Tarzan yell.

When he reached the other side of the minefield, landing on a tree branch, he climbed up towards the hook to pull it loose, then back down to the ground. One by one, they all followed suit.

After that, the rest of the journey went by fairly quickly and they reached the bay before sunset. But, looking at the cave, they could see that there was a problem.

“Looking at that cave,” Sara said, “I can see that there’s a problem.”

The entrance was blocked by a boulder. It was large and partly submerged.

“It’s not _that_ bad,” Bruce said. “The top part of the cave entrance is still exposed, so we can just climb through that. Harkness, you’ll have to put your trenchcoat through first so it doesn’t snag when you’re going through.”

“I am _not_ tossing my trenchcoat into that cave!”

“Why do you even _wear_ a trenchcoat on a tropical island during the daytime?” Shado asked the question that had been on everybody’s minds.

After about twenty minutes of arguing, it was agreed that Harkness would stand guard outside, but put his trenchcoat through the gap to keep him from running away. Bruce climbed into the cave first, landing in water. He swam to the left until he found solid ground and climbed onto the rock platform. The platform reached the edge of the entrance and almost touched the border. “You’ll want to enter on the _left_ side of the cave,” he announced his findings to the others. The next person into the cave was Sara, followed by Harkness’s trenchcoat, Oliver and Shado.

“We’re going to have to swim the rest of the way,” Oliver announced. “Also, we need light.”

If it wasn’t for the sunlight coming through the gap, it would be pitch black. It was going to be, once they got far enough into the cave. Fortunately, Bruce had arrived on the island with three wind-up flashlights (it never hurts to have a spare for the spare) and had the forethought to bring all three along, along with some spare ropes. He handed one flashlight to Shado and one to Oliver. “Tie them around your wrists with these ropes,” he said, doing the same with the flashlight he’d kept. “We’ll be able to see where we’re going.”

Sara was breathing heavily.

“You okay?” Bruce asked.

“I’m, uh… I don’t know if I’m good with swimming.”

Bruce nodded in understanding. “I get it. When I was eight, I was playing with a friend in the garden, and put one foot on the wrong part of the ground… next thing I knew, I was falling down an old well and into a cave. This place… it’s bringing those memories right back. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“I’d rather not stand here and wait,” Sara said.

Bruce thought for a second. Then he started untying the flashlight from his wrist. “In that case, how about this: you take the flashlight and I’ll take us across. That would actually make it easier for both of us.” Sara wasn’t the only one of them who’d almost drowned, so Bruce turned to the archers. “Shado, you won’t need to be using your light. Just hold on to Oliver and make sure he doesn’t panic.”

Oliver was about to protest that he wouldn’t panic, but then he stopped as if he’d realized something. Bruce smirked to himself at his own cleverness: of _course_ Oliver wouldn’t mind being forced to participate in the buddy system if his buddy was Shado.

Shado gave her back to Bruce, who put it in his waterproof rucksack. Then they started swimming.

The cave widened and a curved metal shape loomed in the dark ahead of them. A World War Two era Japanese submarine.

“It’s bigger than I expected,” Shado said.

“Oliver, don’t you dare make one ‘that’s what she said’ joke,” Sara threatened pre-emptively.

“I wasn’t going to say that!” Oliver lied.

After several minutes of trying (very _tiring_ minutes, have _you_ ever tried climbing up the hull of a submarine while covered in water and staying afloat the whole time?), they successfully got inside the sub.

It took some searching, and exploring the various levels of the sub, but eventually they found a metal box covered in Japanese writing.

“’Mirakuru’,” Shado read. Everybody looked at her. “I have family in Japan, I can read kana,” she explained.

“So this is it,” Bruce said. “The first ever weaponised rapid-action physiological performance hyperenhancer.”

“Can we stop with the technobabble and just call it the Very Dangerous MacGuffin?” Oliver asked.

“I agree with Oliver on this one,” Sara said. “’Very Dangerous MacGuffin’ is much easier to remember.”

“Well it’s not the first ever weaponised Very Dangerous MacGuffin, is it?” Shado said.

“That would be smallpox blankets,” Bruce added.

There was an explosion.

“What the f*** was that!?” Sara shouted.

“I think somebody just blew up the boulder,” Oliver said.

Bruce spoke the thought that was scaring them all: “Manta’s here.”

**Santa Prisca**

**The Present Day**

“Have you ever _been_ to Atlantis?” Bruce asked.

“No,” Arthur said bluntly. “I’ve never seen it before. All I know about it is that my mother was Atlantean nobility and that she wasn’t allowed to stay with my father or me because of the laws of the capital.”

“So what exactly are your powers? All Manta told me was that you’re more powerful in the water than on land.”

“You’ve seen how strong I am. And how tough my skin is. I’m even more invulnerable underwater, because the water forms a shield around my skin. Obviously, I can breathe underwater. I can sense movements in electrical fields there too. I have sonar, I can see and survive at extreme depths, and there’s one other thing that you have to see to believe.”

“When you say extreme depths… Would you be able to survive in the Marianas Trench?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried.”

Bruce mentally filed that information away. “What about you and Manta? Who killed whose father first?”

“He did. Seven years ago. I’ve been hunting him ever since.”

“And he’s been hunting you? Why did you kill _his_ father? To make him feel the same pain as you?”

“It was a mistake. Right after Manta killed my father, I tracked down his ship and climbed aboard. I found someone I thought was him, but…”

“It was his father,” Bruce deduced. “And now the two of you are locked in a cycle of revenge. You know I can’t let you kill him, no matter what he did to you, right?”

Arthur scoffed. “That’s awfully self-righteous of you. I bet you’ve never had to know what it feels like to watch a parent bleeding out in front of you. I bet you’ve never felt the hatred towards the person responsible.”

Bruce tensed. “Well that’s two bets you’ve already lost,” he growled. “I know exactly what it feels like to lose a parent to murder. In fact,” he said, “I know what it feels like to lose both, at the same time, right in front of my eyes. You might want to be careful before you make bets or call someone self-righteous for having principles.”

“What principles!?” the half-Atlantean roared. “Manta’s a killer, give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill him!”

“Because you might be killing somebody _else’s_ father when you do that! Or somebody’s mentor! Or somebody’s husband! Because when it comes to murder, the person who dies is only the first victim! Everyone they leave behind – if you kill that person, then you’ve wronged every single one of them!”

“There is _nobody_ who cares about Manta enough to mind if I kill him,” Arthur insisted.

“How sure _are you_ of that?”

They stared at each other.

“Well, if you two are finished having an ideologically-motivated pissing contest that this whole country can hear,” Alfred said as he walked into the room, “I suggest getting down to business and figuring out a plan to find Black Manta.”

/\\-^|^-/\

“You can track him, right?” Bruce asked.

“I’ve been hunting Black Manta for years,” Arthur said. “I think I’ll be able to recognise his ship.”

“Well, that sorts out the first part,” Alfred said. “What about once you get onto the ship?”

“I’ll fight anyone who gets in our way, then Manta himself,” Arthur proclaimed.

“Yes,” Bruce said sarcastically, “a very well-thought out plan that takes into full account the fact that you’re still recovering from getting hit by six flash grenades, repeated electrocution, being burnt by a flare, and being shot in the leg, shoulder and lung. Manta wouldn’t have wasted two shots on non-lethal areas unless he figured you’d probably survive and wanted to make sure you’d be at a disadvantage even then. He’ll be ready for you.”

“Oh, and the bullets fragmented on impact so Harriet couldn’t get them all out during surgery,” Alfred chimed in. “Manta used his own bullets, and they’re slightly radioactive, even if it’s faint enough that your Atlantean metabolism will break them down like it broke down your sedatives before Harriet upped the concentration.”

“So you’re saying I should sit this out?” Arthur asked sceptically.

“I’m _saying_ that you’ll be better off thinking things through before you go on a mission.” Bruce replied. “If we destroy Manta’s ship, that will count as a blow against his operations regardless of whether we succeed or not. We’ll need to do that without killing anybody, which we can do by taking over the comms and telling the crew that we’ve planted charges on the ship and they should head to the lifeboats. The explosions may not be enough to sink the ship, in which case you’ll need to break the hull.”

“And where will we get these charges?” Arthur questioned.

“We’ve already made them,” Alfred replied. “They’re in this bag.” He held up a waterproof bag.

“I’ll take a speedboat to Manta’s ship – you can probably swim faster than one,” Bruce said to Arthur, “so you’ll be leading the way. Once we board the ship, I’ll need a distraction to plant the charges and get to the comm room afterwards.”

“If Manta finds out I’m on board,” Arthur said, “you’ll get your distraction.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Bruce had replaced the tungsten armour plate that Arthur had shattered. He’d also been generous enough to offer Arthur the spare body armour, though Arthur refused.

Once their equipment was ready (the charges were all in the good ol’ waterproof rucksack), they set out. Arthur tracked Manta’s ship – he could sense the free electrons in the alloy that made up the hull and the waves made by the motor as it spun – and swam, propelling himself forwards with powerful kicks. He became a human-shaped torpedo. Bruce’s speedboat could just about keep up.

Arthur’s recuperation had given Manta a few days’ head start, but unlike Manta they didn’t have to make any stops along the way. Also, Arthur was fast and the speedboat was no slowpoke either.

Arthur refrained from breaking the underwater sound barrier for Bruce’s sake.

Eventually they saw Manta’s ship: first a speck on the horizon, then it grew into the shark-like menace that Bruce recognised.

‘He’s upgraded since the last time I met him,’ Bruce thought. ‘Hopefully it won’t be too much harder to sink than the last one.’

As they caught up to Manta, the ship loomed threateningly. Arthur doubled back and dived underneath the speedboat.

‘Oh, he’s not going to do what I think he’s going to do, is he?’ was all Bruce had time to think before the speedboat was sailing through the air, over Manta’s ship. Bruce leapt out, turned in the air, tucked his knees and his head into his chest and rolled as he quite literally hit the deck.

Bruce got to his feet as Arthur shot straight up out of the water and landed on the ship.

“A little warning would have been nice,” Bruce said.

“Next time, I’ll make sure to yell ‘fastball special’ before I throw somebody’s boat while they’re in it,” Arthur acknowledged. He looked around and saw a group of Manta’s soldiers. “Now go plant the charges while I distract Manta.”

He turned back to the Bat, but the Bat was already gone. ‘ _That’s_ rude,’ he thought. ‘Well, time to get on with the plan.’

“Hello, Manta’s soldiers!” He shouted. “I come in peace! Resistance is futile! Take me to your leader!” When they stared at him in confusion, he elaborated, “I meant the last two, but I’ve always wanted to say all three.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Stealth.

A mysterious art, often perceived as mystical by the uninitiated.

The ninjas and hashashin were known particularly well for stealth, once. Now it’s considered the domain of organisations like MI6 or the CIA.

The simple fact is that stealth does not depend on smokescreens (too obvious), wallcrawling (too difficult), or hacking the cameras (sometimes the movies make one question if Hollywood knows what the CC in CCTV stands for). Instead, stealth depends on disguises, misdirection and psychology.

This was why the first thing Bruce did was silently take down a random Manta soldier with a similar size and shape to Bruce, taking off his armour and putting it in the rucksack. He left the poor man in a lifeboat, hidden under a tarp. If he was still there when it was time to evacuate the ship, Bruce would just drop the lifeboat himself.

The next thing he’d need to do would be to follow the sound of the engines to the engine room. He snuck around the corridors, remaining out of sight of the guards but not the cameras. Specifically, he allowed himself to be seen by three cameras before the engine room. He picked the lock as quickly as he could and stepped inside.

The next part was more difficult because he had to be quick. Put on the harness, tie the rope to the guardrail and descend to the engines to plant the five charges. Most of them were well-hidden. One was poorly hidden, but that was deliberate. He only needed four to take out the ship. Two for the engine, two for the generator powering the pumps that would keep water from filling the ship if the hull was punctured. Get back up to the walkway, lose the rope and the harness.

The next step: put on the soldier’s armour and show up outside the engine room. Be seen running towards the room, shouting ‘intruder!’ Search the engine room with some of Manta’s other soldiers, make sure they find the bomb he wanted them to find. Suggest going to the communications centre to warn the rest of the crew, argue that they can convey more information directly than they would through the comms officer.

“Fine, but take Jeff with you. You’ll need backup if this bat maniac shows up. I’ll radio the captain.”

/\\-^|^-/\

“I know what they say about assuming,” Black Manta said, “but it’s completely out of character for you to just turn yourself over.”

“This feud between us has gone on for long enough,” Arthur said through gritted teeth. “We should settle this peacefully.”

Manta laughed. “You need acting lessons. For that matter, you need lessons in diplomacy. I’m not sure what offends me more: that you thought I’d believe that or that you couldn’t be bothered to be upfront about your motives. Let me guess: you’re here to snap my neck?”

Arthur said nothing.

“Well, if you try that you won’t live long afterwards. I’ve implanted a heart rate monitor in my chest, which sends out a signal to a remotely controlled rifle I’ve had set up to follow you around. Or more specifically, the radiation from the metal I made those bullets out of.”

“So if I kill you, I get shot.”

“No, if you try to kill me, you get shot as soon as my heartbeat quickens. Which, incidentally, will also give me a power up due to the extra oxygen for my enhanced physiology to use. But this isn’t how you’d go about killing me anyway. _You_ are _stalling_.” Manta smirked. “A distraction.”

Manta’s radio crackled. “Captain, there’s an intruder on board. He’s dressed like a bat and he’s put at least one bomb in the engine room. We’re searching for the rest now and we have people disarming the one that we’ve found.”

/\\-^|^-/\

Jeff was slumped on a chair, unconscious. So was the comms officer, Gary. Bruce was standing in his bat costume, the Manta soldier’s armour discarded on the floor. He turned on the comms and made his announcement.

“There’s an intruder on this ship: me,” he growled. “I’ve put explosives in the engine room. The one that’s already been found has been set up differently from the rest, so you’ll have to start over from scratch if you’re disarming any more bombs you find. Not that you’ll have the time, they’re going to go off in,” he checked the timer in his utility belt, “less than five minutes. I recommend you get to the lifeboats before the ship sinks.”

With that, he turned off the comms and walked out.

And found himself facing Black Manta. Arthur was there too, three of Manta’s soldiers pointing guns at him.

“Hello, Bat. It appears the tables have turned. Follow me.”

/\\-^|^-/\

“And here’s the engine room. I’m assuming this is where you plan to sink the ship.”

“It is.”

“Well, there’s no way of stopping you, so I’ll make things easier,” Manta said as he opened a panel in the wall with a silver key and turned the lever inside.

There was a whirr of hydraulics as the floor split into two sections and moved apart, revealing the water below.

“I decided to add this in case I ever needed to kill or interrogate someone who was susceptible to drowning. I’m fairly sure you fit into that category.”

Bruce said nothing.

“Normally I’d just shoot you, but I’m sure you’ve made it very difficult for me to stop your plan, and I couldn’t resist the irony.”

“What about your men?” Arthur asked.

“I didn’t think you cared,” Manta replied. “But I already told them to leave. These three are the last ones. I demand loyalty from my men, but asking them to _stay and die_ on a sinking ship would test that loyalty too much. They’ll leave, and then the three of us will be left down here by ourselves.”

Arthur looked at Bruce. The Bat showed Arthur the palm of his hand, tilted his head towards the water and nodded. ‘ _Wait until he’s tried to drown me, then make your move_.’

Manta dismissed the three soldiers, telling them to turn on the pumps on their way out. “I’ll need some time to get off this ship before it sinks,” he said. Then he kicked Bruce in the chest, sending him falling into the water.

Manta pushed the same lever that had opened the floor and the metal started to close again. Then Arthur struck Manta in the gut, sending him flying across the room. Arthur leapt after his opponent to continue the fight.

“Abandoning your new ally?” Manta condemned him. “Really? I thought you were at least better than _that_.”

“All part of his plan,” Arthur said. “And you’re one to talk about better. I didn’t realize who I was killing. You _did_.”

“And do you know _why_ I killed the washed-up deep sea diver?” Manta challenged. “How I _knew_ about Atlantis?”

“I don’t _need_ to know!” Arthur yelled, lashing out at Manta with a haymaker.

“Trust me, you do,” Manta chuckled. “I was _paid_ to kill him. By the one other surface-worlder who knew your story.”

Arthur stopped. “You’re lying.”

“Dr Shin wanted you to come to Atlantis. Your father wanted to keep you away. So Dr Shin had me kill him.” Manta laughed cruelly. “He thought it was _for the best_.”

“You’re lying!” Arthur charged towards Manta. “Dr Shin was my father’s _best friend_!” Arthur threw a double-handed uppercut to Manta’s helmet, just below his visor, sending his opponent flying. “He would _never_ have betrayed him like that!” Arthur said as he punched Manta hard enough to crack the helmet. Manta’s visor shattered.

“Call me a liar if you want,” Black Manta taunted, “but it doesn’t change the truth.”

Arthur roared and hit Manta over and over.

By the end of the barrage of punches, the pirate was bruised, battered and bleeding. His armour was in pieces. “Do it,” he hissed. “Kill me, just like you killed my father. _Like I killed yours._ ”

Arthur stood and stared at him. He’d spent so long hunting him down, looking for this chance… for what? Revenge? Who would that bring back? Who would it _hurt_?

Arthur remembered Bruce’s words to him. ‘ _How sure are you of that?_ ’

He looked down. He was standing over where the two sections of the floor touched. With the speed of a torpedo, he drove his hands into the gap and pulled them apart. The metal bent upwards. The whole thing wouldn’t budge, but Arthur managed to make a gap large enough to fit through.

“What are you waiting for!?” Manta yelled.

“I don’t have to save you…” Arthur replied. “But I’m not going to kill you.”

Arthur jumped through the hole and swam downwards. When he was far away enough, he turned around and rushed back towards the ship, gaining speed and adding the force of the water to his own.

He punched a hole in the hull and swam down again to repeat the same two more times. That would be enough to help the ship sink.

When he was done, Arthur stopped and listened, for one sound in particular.

Whale song.

/\\-^|^-/\

Bruce’s brain wanted to panic. Really badly.

‘There’s water flooding into our airways!’ it screamed, ‘and you’re still just flailing in the sea!’

‘I’d be _swimming_ and not _flailing_ , if it wasn’t for a design flaw in the neural network in charge of my self-preservation and vital and higher functions,’ Bruce retorted.

Bruce managed to regain control of his muscles long enough to start swimming away from the ship and towards the surface, at which point his brain started yelling at him to _swim faster_.

Bruce _was_ swimming upwards, slowly enough to avoid getting the bends, when he heard another voice in his skull. ‘ _Save him,’_ it said. ‘ _Surface. But slowly._ ’ A dark shape appeared in the water below him, growing larger by the second.

He felt the leathery skin against his hands, and held on while the leviathan swam forwards and upwards faster than he could have managed in his current state.

They broke through the surface of the sea, Bruce coughing up water while the whale sprayed a fountain of it in the air.

“Good god, a whale!” Bruce said.

“Yes, a whale,” Arthur replied. He was standing behind Bruce, his hand on the cetacean’s back.

“So _this_ is your other power?” Bruce asked. “Telepathy?”

“I told you you’d have to see it to believe it. As long as there’s ions travelling between me and them, I can communicate telepathically with other creatures. Of course, they have to have a neural network similar to our own for communication to be possible, but that’s not much of a problem.”

“I’m guessing the extent of the communication also depends on what you’re communicating with?”

Arthur nodded. “Most animals only have lower brain functions. I can influence them, but I can’t actually communicate. But with smarter ones – cephalopods, rays, or cetaceans like Leviazure here, I can actually have a conversation.” He paused as if listening. “She says she likes your costume.”

“Thanks,” Bruce said.

/\\-^|^-/\

“Why did you want to go after Black Manta anyway?” Arthur asked. “He wasn’t planning anything, and he wasn’t a threat to Gotham.”

“He’s the head of the only marine organized crime syndicate,” Bruce said. “Drug trafficking falls under his area of expertise. And this whole trip is about sending a message to drug traffickers around the world.”

“’Stay out of my city’,” Arthur said. “Well, so far you’ve managed that. You know, you might end up inspiring others to do what you’re doing.”

“I think I already have. There’s more than a few vigilantes like me. I’ve even worked with two, although the first one wasn’t a vigilante yet.”

“But no vigilantes fighting for the sea,” Arthur remarked. “I think I might do that. It may be good to fight for something more altruistic than revenge.”

“I wish you luck, Aquaman,” Bruce said.

“Aquaman? Good name… Batman.”

“Would you believe that’s not the first time I’ve been called that? This makes at least seventh.”

“Eh, it’s more unique than ‘The Bat’ and shorter than ‘The Bat of the East End’,” Aquaman pointed out. “I think you should stick with it.”

/\\-^|^-/\

“Well, now we know,” Bruce said, “what happens if you ride a whale into the Panama Canal.”

“I don’t think anyone ever asked that question,” Arthur said.

“Well, if anyone _has_ , they can sleep peacefully at night again with the knowledge that you _can_ do it, but a lot of people will freak out.”

Right now, they were at a restaurant. When two people ride a whale into your city’s canal, one of whom is dressed as a Bat and the other is a terrifying man with gills, scars and a beard, you’re likely to forget that your establishment has a dress code.

“So, what now?” Arthur asked.

“I’m thinking… Colombia. Cocaine is one of the most prevalent drugs and taking the fight to the root will definitely send a message.”

“If you’re going to the jungle, you’ll need a machete. Probably some other things too.”

“I can buy all of them. I’ll make arrangements for contacting Alfred and Harriet and for getting back home when I’m ready, and then I’ll be on my way. Wish me luck,” Bruce said

“Break a leg.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for the Aquaman part of the story. The second half will be focusing on some OCs I've come up with. So, what do you think?


	4. Chapter Four

**The East China Sea**

**Three Years Ago**

Manta’s men boarded the submarine and found the escaped prisoner and her three friends ready for a fight. Not that it would have been evenly matched: the four maroons were outnumbered threefold and outgunned completely. They were forced into a circle at gunpoint.

The wall of muscle parted and a much more imposing figure walked into the sub. He was six feet tall, taller even.

“Where’s the Mirakuru?” Manta asked.

Bruce shrugged. “None of _us_ know. You can search this whole ship, but you won’t find it.”

“We’ll see. I’ve already got people searching the sub, and any moment now I should be getting a mission report…”

Manta’s radio crackled.

“ _Boss, we haven’t found any Mirakuru. Just some blood packs, a journal in Japanese and some sort of samurai armour. The metal’s weird._ ”

“Take the journal with you. We’ll translate it once we’re back on the ship.”

“ _Right away, captain._ ”

Manta grinned. “Now what should I do with the four of you?”

“I don’t suppose you could let us go?” Oliver asked.

“Not all of you,” Manta shook his head. “Sara is a valuable member of my crew. As for you and your friend,” Manta gestured at Bruce. “Oliver Queen and Bruce Wayne. There’ll be people willing to pay a significant ransom to save the lives of two of America’s most famous missing billionaires.”

Oliver frowned. “How do you know our names?”

“That,” an Australian-accented man wearing a blue trenchcoat that was slightly dirty from being left in a cave, said, “would be my work.”

“Harkness,” Bruce growled.

Digger Harkness grinned. “Is this the part where the accusations start? ‘You sold us out’, that kind of thing? Don’t bother, I know what I did and why I did it.”

“And why is that?” Shado asked.

“I paid him for it,” Manta interjected. “Anyway, we’ll find the Mirakuru and be on our way. _You_ can leave as soon as you wish. Your friends, unfortunately, aren’t going to be so lucky.”

“Go,” Oliver urged her. “There’s no point in all of us being taken prisoner.”

“’Prisoner’ is a harsh term,” Manta said. “But I suppose it fits.”

Manta’s soldiers cleared the way to the escape hatch and allowed Shado to leave. A few minutes later, Manta’s radio crackled again.

“ _Boss, we’ve found the Mirakuru. It wasn’t on the sub, it was underwater. Someone put it in a rucksack and let it sink_.”

Manta laughed. “Your plan, I suppose?” he asked the three captives who remained. “I admit, it was clever. If I hadn’t had divers searching the water too, I would never have found it.”

“You’d be surprised how clever we can be,” Bruce boasted.

“Well, don’t get any ideas. You aren’t going to be escaping any time soon.”

Manta’s soldiers escorted the captives out of the sub, one by one. They had to swim out of the cave – the explosion had been enough to open an easy way in, but the entrance was slightly too narrow to fit a boat through – before getting into the boats Manta had waiting outside.

Bruce was the first one out, followed by Sara, then Oliver.

The boat Bruce was in was about to reach Manta’s ship when he heard a gunshot, followed by a splash, like a body falling into the water. Sara screamed Oliver’s name. Bruce turned his head and saw that the boat Oliver had been in now only held the soldier who Manta ordered to bring Oliver to the ship.

When they were all on the ship, Manta included, the captain whirled on the soldier responsible.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded. “You were supposed to bring him to this ship alive, not bury him at sea!”

“I know, boss, but we were barely out of the cave when he tried to escape. I only meant to fire a warning shot, send a message-“

He didn’t get to finish his excuse because Manta shot him in the head.

“Is that enough of a message for you?” he asked, before turning his attention to Bruce and Sara. “Take Mr Wayne to the brig, Sara,” he said. “Then go back to your quarters.”

**The Colombian Rainforest**

**The Present Day**

Alfred and Harriet had come to Panama City in the private jet and dropped Bruce off in Colombia. They’d made arrangements for how Bruce would get in touch once he was ready to come back, and made sure Bruce had the necessary supplies.

Right now, Bruce was wandering stealthily through the forest, looking for a drug convoy to attack. His plan was to strike at the cartels, starting with small attacks but building to something more… dramatic.

He found his target. He had the smoke bombs, body armour, machete… everything he needed.

/\\-^|^-/\

Surviving in the rainforest wasn’t easy, but to Bruce it wasn’t difficult either. He’d studied beforehand which plants were safe to eat. As for protein, he’d also made sure to check which insects were poisonous and which were not. Speaking of insects, he had made sure to bring plenty of mosquito repellent to keep himself from being bitten. Spider repellent too.

Night vision goggles? Check. Water? He had several bottles, and he could always refill them with rainwater. Medicine? Everything he needed to prevent an infection.

He had a machete to make his way through the forest. For when he got into combat situations, he had flares, smoke grenades, and body armour. And he had a hammock that he could suspend from trees to sleep.

He was up to the challenge.

/\\-^|^-/\

Three weeks.

That’s how long he’d been in the rainforest.

He hadn’t shaved and now had a full beard to show for it. Alfred would probably give him hell when he saw him. (‘Have you ever tried to shave with a machete, Alfred?’ Bruce imagined himself responding.)

He’d been making steady progress, raiding the drug cartels’ convoys, but it wasn’t enough. Bruce needed to escalate this soon, or else he’d run out of time. Maybe attack one of the cartel leaders’ mansions? He’d have to find one first, but once he did that it would be only a matter of using Ducard’s training to take the base. Pick the guards off one by one, that kind of thing.

Right now, he was eavesdropping on three traffickers who’d stopped their car to replace a tire that had burst. (No, Bruce didn’t have anything to do with that, why would he even have darts that could puncture rubber tires?)

“ _We need to get moving,_ ” one said.

“ _Why? Is widdle Carlos scared?_ ” another mocked.

“ _Shut up,_ ” Carlos snarled. “ _Haven’t you heard what’s been happening to convoys in this part of the forest? People are saying that the bandits have branched out._ ”

Bandits? That was something Bruce would have to follow up on.

“ _If it’s the bandits doing it then we have no reason to be worried_ ,” the third man said. “ _They may have been able to give a few idiots a challenge, but they haven’t fought us yet_.”

That had been how criminals talked about the Bat of the East End early on.

If he struck now, Bruce would be able to stop a drug shipment _and_ gain potentially useful information from them. Bruce tossed a smoke bomb into the clearing and attacked.

/\\-^|^-/\

It had been nine days since Bruce had found out about the bandits. He’d interrogated one of the traffickers he’d eavesdropped on and found out that most of the bandits’ attacks occurred in an area of the forest a few kilometres northeast of where he was. So he made his journey there, attacking the cartels’ convoys when he got the chance.

Now he was hoping for an encounter with these bandits. They could be a useful ally.

From his position perched in the canopy, he heard the cars before he saw them. Another convoy. This one sounded like it was larger than the others.

He checked the rope he’d tied around his waist on one end and around the largest branch at the other end. It was secure. When the middle car was passing under him, he dropped down.

There was a sharp tug at his midsection as he came to a stop just above the car’s roof. He took out his machete, cut through the rope and fell onto the roof. Crawling forwards, he took out the rock he’d fashioned into a crude hammer and smashed it down on the window in the door on the driver’s side.

The driver and the passenger screamed as Bruce threw a smoke bomb inside the car. Ahead of them, the leading car came to a halt when it drove over the well-camouflaged spikes Bruce had lain on the forest floor. Well, _careened_ to a halt was a more accurate description. They only stopped because their car couldn’t physically occupy the same space as a tree trunk wider than two fully grown humans standing side by side.

Soon enough, there was a pile-up in the rainforest.

Bruce jumped from car to car, taking out the traffickers who were still conscious as they got out of the cars.

He couldn’t keep doing this forever - the ones in the backs of the cars, with their machine guns and machetes, were taking up a lot of his time.

There was a sudden pain all over his abdomen. His body armour was distributing the force of a bullet fired from an automatic firearm around his body. If he kept going like this, he’d be overwhelmed. He leapt down from the roof, figuring it would be harder to hit him if he wasn’t such an obvious target. The lower manoeuvrability was a downside worth putting up with.

Slinking around the labyrinth, he picked off the traffickers and gunmen one by one. When he encountered one, he’d disarm him and knock him out with a quick flurry of strikes.

There was a bang and a hiss. Grey wisps rose in the air like tendrils reaching outwards. Smoke. So they were using smoke bombs too. That would make fighting them more difficult.

There was a thud. Someone falling to the ground.

Again.

By Bruce’s calculations there were about ten men left. And all in all, he heard nine thuds. And a number of distinct voices swearing that started at ten and decreased by one with each thud.

Coming round the corner of one car, he saw a gunman looking the other way. Bruce grabbed the man around the neck - using his whole arm, not just his hand - and with his free arm struck him in the stomach. Once, twice, thrice. When he let go, the gunman fell to the ground gasping for breath. When he started to get up, Bruce kicked him in the face to knock him out.

“ _You’re new,_ ” somebody said.

A teen with shoulder-length curly hair, green clothing and green body paint walked up to Bruce. In the teen’s hand was a small wooden tube, and at the teen’s waist was a belt with two darts left, but room for five in total.

“ _Dressed like a bat,_ ” the teen evaluated the vigilante. “ _I dig it._ ”

“ _I’m guessing you’re one of the ‘bandits’ I’ve been hearing about?_ ” Bruce asked. “ _And you used the darts to knock out these men._ ”

The teen smiled proudly. “ _That’s right. Well, not on my own. This is my first raid, so Abuelita told my brother and sister to make sure I didn’t get into trouble._ ”

“ _Miguela,_ ” a woman called, “ _it’s time to go!_ ”

“ _Just a second sis,_ ” Miguela answered. _“Can the bat guy come too_?”

A tall woman wearing similar attire to Miguela’s came around the corner. She was older than Miguela - Bruce estimated that she was in her twenties - and muscular. Her hair was longer, and tied in a ponytail. _“The who now?_ ” She stopped when she saw Bruce. _“Ah,_ ” she nodded, understanding her sibling’s question. “ _Miguela, step away from him. He could be dangerous._ ”

“ _Only to drug traffickers_ ,” Bruce assured her. _“And others who prey on the vulnerable_.”

“ _We’ll decide who you’re dangerous to. Toño,_ ” she called, _“we’re bringing a guest back to the camp_!”

A thin man somewhere between Miguela and the other woman in age arrived. He had a knife at his side. When he saw Bruce, he frowned, but nodded with a grunt. _“I trust your judgement on this, Valeria, but I’ll make sure he doesn’t try anything_.”

Valeria flashed a grin at Bruce. _“You’re in luck,_ ” she said sarcastically. “ _Toño is a wonderful travelling companion_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Oliver's not dead. Everything will become clear in the final two chapters.  
> I was considering setting the second half of the present day part of the story in a fictional DC country like Abyssia, but in the end I decided to just go for Colombia.


	5. Chapter Five

**The East China Sea**

**Three Years Ago**

Anatoli Knyazev had a new cell mate.

The young, dark-haired man had been led into the cell by Sara Lance. The young man sat down at the bench across from Knyazev.

“Sara told me about you,” the man said. He had a Gotham accent. “She said you could help us.”

Knyazev raised an eyebrow. “What would I be helping you with?”

“We’re going to escape and sink this ship. You’d be putting together the bombs.”

Knyazev laughed loudly. “ _O Bozhe_ , that’s funny. How well do you expect that to go?”

The man shrugged. “We have a plan. We’ve already ensured that Manta won’t leave this island just yet, and two friends of ours will be coming aboard in a few days. They’ll help you plant the bombs, then get off the ship while we have time.”

“I still doubt you’ll succeed,” Knyazev said. “But it’s worth a try. It would help if I had something to call you.”

“My name’s Bruce Wayne,” the American said.

“Anatoli Knyazev, pleased to meet you.”

They shook hands.

The next evening, it turned out that Bruce had been right: Manta did delay leaving the island. Apparently, he’d translated the captain’s journal and found out that aside from the Mirakuru, the submarine also held experimental bulletproof armour disguised as a samurai suit, something that would be written off as a sign of the captain’s affinity for historical artefacts. He then made the decision to turn back and retrieve the armour from the submarine as well.

That gave them time to work.

Anatoli Knyazev, formerly an agent of the KGB, had been given special privileges (a quiet cell block, a mattress, and a job on the ship) by Manta because of his aptitude with explosives. While making explosives for Manta, he used the time and resources to make four other bombs the Somalian didn’t know about; while small, these bombs could sink the ship if placed correctly.

Manta’s men did retrieve the ship, though it was apparent that one armour plate from the midsection was missing, as was one of the blood packs. It was when Manta’s ship was once again leaving the island, two days after Bruce and Anatoli had met, that the plan fell into place.

In their cell, they heard the sound of combat before they saw Sara running towards them. She took out her key and opened the cell door.

“Oliver and Shado are here,” she said. “Are the bombs ready?”

Anatoli opened a tear in his mattress and took out the bombs. “All four of them. So, what’s the plan?”

“I’ll take you to Oliver and Shado. They’ll help you plant the bombs, I’ll clear a path to escape. Bruce, you remember the directions to Manta’s cabin?”

Bruce nodded.

“Good,” Sara said as she handed him the keys. “Use the polished silver key. Take the Mirakuru and meet up with us above deck. Oliver and Shado have a raft waiting near the ship.”

**The Colombian Rainforest**

**The Present Day**

The camp was hidden in the forest. Bruce wasn’t sure he’d have been able to find it if Valeria, Toño and Miguela hadn’t taken him there.

Toño had kept a hand on the machete he had at his waist the whole time - ‘ _to keep me in line_ ’, Bruce supposed. He and Valeria were both suspicious of the man in the bat costume, even if their little sister trusted the stranger. Bruce could understand that.

As they walked, Miguela explained that called their leader Abuelita even though the woman wasn’t actually anybody’s grandmother, and that the nickname was a sign of respect. Bruce mentally compared it to the Godfather, though going by what Miguela said, Abuelita was more heroic.

 He took in the camp. There was a dozen shelters, give or take, in a small clearing. Bruce estimated that there were twenty five people or fewer living here. The shelters, built from branches and covered with nets and leaves, formed an oval around an extinguished campfire.

The three siblings explained what had happened to Abuelita, a grey-haired old woman. Once she’d heard their story, she pointed to Bruce and gestured at him to follow her. They went into one of the shelters, which was slightly larger than the others. Inside, there was an assortment of weapons carefully arranged on the ground, a sleeping bag, and a wooden board placed on two branches, acting as a makeshift table.

“ _It’s an interesting story that the Ramirez children told me,_ ” Abuelita said. “ _Who are you and why are you here, dressed like a bat?_ ”

_“I’m a vigilante from Gotham City. I’m here because I’ve been fighting drug traffickers and I want to take that fight to the source._ ”

“ _So you’re a man on a mission. We have a mission too. We’ve been fighting the drug barons of this forest ever since one of them burnt down our village. It seems like our missions might be aligned._ ”

Bruce nodded. “ _That is true. But I do have a question about your mission: are you fighting the drug barons for revenge? Or to protect everyone else from them?_”

“ _We are not a monolith, Bat. Some of us want revenge, some of us want to save others. But we all want to fight them. Those who didn’t, they left to live in peace in other villages._ ”

“ _And you’re leading the war,_ ” Bruce concluded. “ _What’s your plan? I want to help._ ”

“ _We’ve been attacking the convoys, taking whatever we could. Resources, tools, and weapons. When we’re ready, we’ll find the drug baron who burnt down our village and take the fight to his home._ ”

“ _Weapons won’t be enough,_ ” Bruce said. “ _The baron’s men will be trained to fight. More than the convoys you’ve encountered so far. But I can train your villagers. I know judo, krav maga, capoeira, karate… among others. I’ll teach them how to fight, how to hold their own against the people we’ll be facing_.”

Abuelita smiled. “ _I appreciate the offer. We need all the help we can get._ ”

“ _I’m glad to be of use,_ ” Bruce smiled back. “ _Although there is one question I want to ask._ ”

“ _And that question is?_ ”

“ _The drug baron: what’s his name?_ ”

“ _Nobody knows. He gave himself a different name when he rose to power. He turned his cartel into a cult that worships their drug._ ” Abuelita’s words reminded Bruce of something he’d read once. He thought he already knew what the baron had named himself. “ _He calls himself Llama de Nieve._ ”

Snowflame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is much shorter than all the others, but don't worry, chapter six will be the same length as most of my chapters. Also, Snowflame's going to show up! If you don't know who that is... Snowflame is both the best and worst supervillain of all time, let's just say that.  
> As always, feedback is appreciated.


	6. Chapter Six

**The East China Sea**

**Three Years Ago**

“Sir!” one of Manta’s men said as he burst into the captain’s cabin. “We’ve been boarded!”

Manta looked up calmly. He was sitting at the table, dining with their new guest Digger Harkness. “Boarded by whom?”

“The Chinese girl, sir. And Oliver Queen.”

Manta raised an eyebrow. “He’s alive?.. Ah. The missing blood pack, the missing armour plate, that was all part of their plan. Wayne was right about how clever they can be.”

“What shall we do sir?”

“Return to your station and defend the ship. I’ll join you shortly.”

The man nodded and swiftly exited the cabin.

“You’re going to fight Queen and Shado?” the Australian asked. “Shado’s a tough one. Queen… well, he’s more of a wanker but when I was stuck on that godforsaken island with him, Shado and Wayne we gave him a damn good crash course in self-defence.”

“I’ll even the odds,” Manta said. He stood up, walked across to the cabinet, opened it and took out a vial and a syringe.

“This is a sample of Mirakuru,” Manta explained as he put it into the syringe. “The captain’s journal said that they never managed to solve the oxygen problem, but my mask and oxygen tank are designed to deliver a high concentration of oxygen to compensate.” Manta rolled up the sleeve of the diving suit he was wearing, injected the drug into his bloodstream and put on the oxygen tank and mask that were hanging on a nearby wall. The mask’s red eyes made him look terrifying.

“You sure it’s worth it? One less vial of the stuff, you’re losing out on a lot of money.”

“I never intended to sell it,” Manta waved Harkness off. “Only use it. I have… a vendetta that requires this kind of power to complete.”

After Manta left Harkness alone, he looked at the cabinet, and the drawer that had Mirakuru in it. ‘ _The rest of it has to be in there too,’_ he thought. ‘ _If I take it and get off this ship, I can sell it. I’ll be rich!_ ’’ After some more deliberation, he reached towards the drawer…

And a knife embedded itself in the wood inches in front of his hand.

Wide-eyed, Harkness sharply turned his head to see Bruce glaring at him, three throw knives still in the harness on his torso.

Harkness stared at Bruce, his eyes still wide.

Bruce continued to glare back at Harkness.

Harkness slowly took a step back…

And with a flash of Bruce’s hands, another knife embedded itself in the wall inches _behind_   Harkness.

“What _can_ I do!?” Harkness yelled.

“You can help me get to the top deck once I’ve got the Mirakuru,” Bruce said. “And if you try to cross me again, I will _make sure_ you’ll regret it.”

“Alright,” Harkness said defensively. Bruce retrieved his knives, took the Mirakuru vials out of the drawer Harkness had been reaching towards - placing them in a bag at his belt - and prodded him in the back to make him move.

At first, Harkness remembered Bruce’s threat. But when they saw two of Manta’s men heading down the corridor towards them, that changed.

“Lie to them,” Bruce instructed Harkness. “Tell them you’re taking me back to my quarters.”

Harkness looked at Bruce and ran towards Manta’s soldiers. “Help!” he shouted. “He’s escaped and he’s threatening to kill me!”

Bruce threw a knife at Harkness, hitting his leg and sending him falling to the floor. He threw two more knives at the soldiers. Both blades embedded themselves in a shoulder, causing the men to drop their guns.

Bruce rushed forwards and attacked both of them with a flurry of strikes: hitting one in the head to stun him, forcing the other to the ground in a choke hold until he passed out, then when the first man recovered and tried to kick Bruce, grabbing his leg and making it bend the wrong way until his attacker yielded.

Bruce looked back at Boomerang, struggling to get up.

“Help me out, Bruce, will ya?” Harkness begged. “You know I never meant to cross you, I was just trying to _help_.”

“Don’t try to fool me, Harkness. I told you that if you tried to cross me again, you’d regret it. This is what I meant.” Bruce started to walk away, until he felt a sharp pain in his midsection.

“You’re not the only one with a knife, boy!” Harkness yelled as he crawled towards Bruce, got to his feet and started limping towards Bruce instead. “Or two!” he added as he threw a second knife.

Normally, Bruce could have dodged the blade, but the shock and pain of the one embedded in his abdomen slowed his reflexes. He barely had time to turn so that the knife only grazed his back.

Harkness caught up to Bruce and pulled his first knife out of Bruce’s gut, punching Bruce’s wound before he could try to stop the bleeding with his hand. He took the bag from Bruce’s belt as Bruce collapsed against the wall.

“And _this_ ,” Harkness mocked, “is why you should _always_ go for the kill.”

“I’m still alive,” Bruce hissed defiantly, clutching his wound.

“Not for long. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have Mirakuru to sell.”

At that moment, the floor tilted. The groaning of metal filled the corridor. The whole _boat_ was tilting.

Bruce caught one of Harkness’s knives as it rolled towards him, stabbing it into the floor and holding on to the hilt as tightly as he could.

Harkness grabbed a doorframe to stop himself from falling, dropping the Mirakuru bag. “No!” he shouted as he watched it hit the angled floor and roll downwards.

Harkness’s grip gave out first, and he fell screaming into the abyss.

Not much later, Bruce knew he couldn’t keep holding on. He was weak from the blood loss. His strength left him and he fell.

/\\-^|^-/\

The water was swirling around him.

Bruce was barely conscious, and he knew he wasn’t likely to survive past this point. His life was already starting to flash before his eyes.

He knew what was happening. His brain was panicking, frantically searching his memories for a way _out._ Bruce didn’t know if he’d remember one in time, not in this state. Blood loss affected your brain too.

Suddenly, he felt hands on his shoulders and felt himself being pulled out of the water. Exposed to the air, the water on his skin felt much colder.

No longer in immediate danger, and seeing his rescuer looking down at him (though to dazed to recognise said rescuer), Bruce allowed himself to pass out.

/\\-^|^-/\

Bruce opened his eyes, blinked twice and tried to sit up. Pain shot through his side, forcing him onto his back again.

He tried to take in his surroundings. His wound was bound with cloth. He was lying on a raft. He wasn’t alone. Someone was on the same raft, to the left of Bruce.

“You’re alive,” Sara said, relieved. “I was worried you’d…” her voice caught.

“What happened?” Bruce asked weakly.

“Manta attacked us. He was… I think he must have taken the Mirakuru himself. Anatoli managed to plant the bombs and sink the ship, but… I don’t know what happened to-to any of them.”

“We survived. So will they,” Bruce assured her.

Sara smiled in response.

“Harkness stabbed me,” Bruce said. “He tried to take the Mirakuru for himself. When the ship tilted, the Mirakuru fell first. Then him. Then me. I think the Mirakuru’s gone for good now, aside from the part in Manta’s blood.”

“Well, we wanted to make sure it was destroyed. We’ll just have to settle for nobody having a chance finding it,” Sara joked.

Bruce laughed, then winced.

They both smiled.

They both knew the other was trying their best to ignore the fact that they were stuck in the middle of the sea, with no food or drinkable water, and one of them had a wound that could easily become infected at some point.

In their heads, they both prayed they’d reach land soon.

**The Colombian Rainforest**

**The Present Day**

Over the course of four weeks, Bruce trained the bandits. He taught them martial arts, how to build gadgets and set traps, and about strategy and tactics. He also learned that they sometimes went to a doctor in the town of _Santa Philippa_ for medical help - a woman called Doctor Luisa Ramirez, who ran the only hospital between the airport and this part of the forest.

With Bruce’s training, the bandits were able to pull off more ambitious attacks on the drug traffickers. Some of them, taking after Bruce, decided to start wearing bat masks (which they’d made themselves) or changing their face paint to resemble bats. This earnt them the name that they soon came to be known by: Nosferatu.

After four weeks, they knew where Snowflame’s complex was located, had a plan for attacking it, and had the tools they needed to do so.

After four weeks, Nosferatu was ready.

/\\-^|^-/\

Bruce had made a net and was tying it to a tree in the forest.

“ _What’s that for?_ ” asked Miguela.

Bruce looked down and saw her. “ _I’m setting traps. If we need to fight people in the forest, all we need is somebody to set them off.”_

_“How many are there?_ ”

_“So far, I’ve set this net and I’ve tied a log to a tree over there,_ ” he explained as he pointed to the other trap. “ _All I have to do is move one rope and it will hit whoever’s standing in the way.”_

Miguela was impressed. “ _Cool!_ ”

Bruce climbed down from the tree. “ _So, why are you up this late?_ ”

“ _I couldn’t sleep. Why can’t I come with you tomorrow?_ ”

“ _It’s going to be dangerous, Miguela. And none of us want to risk something happening to you._ ”

“ _But I want to help,_ ” Miguela pouted.

Bruce thought for a moment. “ _Tell you what. You will have to stay here, but you can help guard the campsite while we’re on the mission. Deal?_ ”

“ _Fine,_ ” Miguela reluctantly agreed. Guard duty was better than nothing, but not what she’d been hoping for.

Bruce understood how she felt - he had been eager to join in the fight too, at that age, and from what her siblings had told him, their parents had died at Snowflame’s hands when Miguela was around the same age that Bruce was when his own parents were killed. But being able to relate didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep her safe.

/\\-^|^-/\

‘ _There are three guards this side of the complex,’_ Bruce signed to Valeria. Colombian sign language was one of the things he’d taught the group while training them (he’d made sure to teach himself before going to Colombia. ‘ _We need a distraction._ ’

‘ _Toño’s watching the west side,_ ’ Valeria replied. They’d divided the group into four. Bruce and Valeria were watching the south side of the complex with Mercedes, a tall redhead with dark eyes. They would be at the forefront of the attack. ‘ _I’ll tell him to start a fire in those bushes over there. That should get the guards’ attention without giving us away._ ’

Valeria left and, two and a half minutes later, smoke crawled up into the air from the bushes. Small flames appeared, crackling and growing. All dozen of them knew how to make a strike-fire.

Valeria returned, followed by Toño himself. ‘ _Ready when you are,_ ’ Toño signed to Bruce as they watched the guards run to the bushes to put out the fire.

‘ _Three… two… one… now!_ ’’ Bruce gave the signal and Toño ran back to the west side while the three others sprinted towards the compound, climbing up to the balcony - Bruce crouched in front of the wall, giving Valeria a leg up. Valeria in turn lifted Mercedes up to the balcony. She pulled Valeria up, followed by Bruce. Mercedes picked the lock on the steel door and opened it.

“ _That’s a lot of crack,_ ” Mercedes said as they saw what was inside. Bags of cocaine kept in crates - some crates were open and some were closed. “ _I’d say… there, there and there,_ ” Mercedes pointed to three crates in three different corners of the room. Bruce and Valeria agreed and planted their strike-fires there, resting them on the wooden crates. As they left the storage room through the same door they’d used to enter, the flames burnt through the wood and started to consume the drugs.

Outside, the battle had started. Snowflame’s mercenaries had the advantage of better armour and weaponry - but that amounted to little when Nosferatu were throwing smoke bombs and melting in and out of the trees.

Once Bruce, Valeria, and Mercedes joined the battle, the dozen vigilantes’ victory was confirmed. The odds continued to improve as smoke from the storage room lured other guards there instead of to the battle site. They had to protect the goods, after all.

Another, similar fire had broken out in the storage room on the north side, as that division of Nosferatu also joined the battle. The trio assigned to the east side soon joined as well, running over the rooftop and attacking the guards from behind.

In almost no time at all, Nosferatu were victorious.

“ _Who dares defy Snowflame?”_ a voice boomed.

/\\-^|^-/\

The drug baron had white shoulder-length hair. He wore white eyeliner, skin-tight red leggings and a red tank top with white zig-zag lines running along the edges and a white flame symbol on his chest. His skin was covered in burns.

‘ _I’ll distract him,_ ’ Bruce signed to Nosferatu, ‘ _while you take the compound_.’

Using his voice, he bellowed, “ _You’ve already lost, Snowflame! Stop now and we’ll spare you._ ”

Snowflame cackled. “ _And give up this exhilaration, this sweet burning electricity coursing through my veins? No!_ ” He took two fistfuls of the white powder, brought the drug to his face and started to sniff.

Snowflame’s body ignited. White flames danced on his skin. “ _Cocaine is my god,_ ” he proclaimed, “ _and I am the human instrument of its will!_ ”

Bruce… Bruce wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He _could_ tell that Snowflame gained some sort of powers from cocaine - presumably other triple reuptake inhibitors would produce similar effects. He’d have to fight Snowflame to see which powers manifested, but he could make some reliable assumptions.

Bruce was already making those assumptions as he approached Snowflame and assumed a combat stance. The burns on his skin now made sense - somehow, his heightened body temperature caused the natural oils on his skin to ignite, burning him. That meant that Snowflame wasn’t invulnerable, but he showed no signs of discomfort either. He didn’t feel pain.

The two fighters circled each other.

Snowflame’s pupils were dilated. His face was manic with euphoria. He experienced the same effects as anyone else did, just with the addition of superhuman abilities. That probably meant he’d only have his powers for another fifteen to thirty minutes, after which… Bruce knew what could happen during the comedown. He’d have to incapacitate Snowflame quickly and get him to a hospital.

Snowflame lunged and Bruce dodged out of the way, reaching into his belt and taking out a smoke bomb. He tossed it onto the ground and the tendrils formed a curtain, hiding him from view. Snowflame threw a fist through the curtain. The blow connected.

So he could sense Bruce despite the smokescreen. Heightened senses. Good: that meant it would be easier for him to follow Bruce.

The vigilante tackled the drug baron. Beads of sweat formed on his skin in response to the heat of the flames. The two of them rolled into the forest, where the Bat disappeared into the trees, scampering up into the canopy.

Still burning, Snowflame got to his feet and walked into the forest, eager for a fight.

As he walked, following the rustling of leaves as the Bat moved from tree to tree, Snowflame found himself moving deeper and deeper into the forest. Suddenly, a creature soared down from the branches and enveloped him. Snowflame screamed.

Bruce had suspected that Snowflame would display psychosis, and he’d been right. The net had set Snowflame into a panic - he couldn’t begin to guess what the drug baron saw it as. Now all he needed to do was keep Snowflame distracted was keep setting off the traps. The log would be next. He moved along the thick branch as Snowflame wrestled his way out of the net.

“ _So you say cocaine is your ‘god’?_ ” the Bat taunted him as he stood with the monster at his feet.

Something flew towards Snowflame, striking him and sending him flying too.

“ _Gods represent ideals, not poisons,_ ” the Bat scoffed. “ _My ideal is justice, and flooding farms and villages and towns and cities with your poison, ruining countless lives, creating addictions, forcing good but vulnerable people to turn to crime and become someone they’re not…_ ”

Snowflame pushed the log off of himself and ran towards the Bat’s voice.

“ _That’s not justice_ ” the Bat finished. _“Causing death, tearing families apart, that’s not justice._ ”

Snowflame laughed at the Bat’s words. “ _Gods don’t represent ideals, vigilante. Gods represent power, and my god gives me the greatest power a man can wish for, the power to bring ruin and control lives. What power could your justice possibly have?_ ”

Snowflame could see a figure in the trees. A figure that resembled the Bat. He approached it and struck, and the figure disintegrated.

And then he was kicked in the back and fell to the ground as the Bat leapt down from the tree he’d perched in.

Bruce had positioned himself so that he’d be able to see Snowflame attack the pile of leaves and branches, and once he saw his chance he took it.

 “ _The power to inspire,_ ” he said, “ _makes any power your drug could have worthless by comparison. Look at what happened today, how your men fell to Nosferatu. This is my power, and justice is my ideal. That’s what I represent_.”

He was hoping this ‘blasphemy’ against Snowflame’s ‘god’ would piss the drug baron off. Judging by Snowflame’s yell of rage, he was right.

/\\-^|^-/\

Seven minutes later, Snowflame was coming down from his high. When the flames started to go out, Bruce - fatigued and overheating - rendered Snowflame unconscious with a single punch, then carried the drug baron to the nearest hospital he knew of - the one that Nosferatu had been getting their medical supplies from.

“ _You expect my hospital to take care of a man like him?_ ” Dr Ramirez asked incredulously. “ _I have plenty of goodwill, but not that much._ ”

“ _I don’t expect you to do help a drug baron like this one out of the goodness of your heart,_ ” the Bat conceded, “ _but I can provide some additional incentive_.”

“ _How much ‘incentive’?_ ”

“ _Five million pesos._ ” Three thousand four hundred US dollars. From their attacks on the drug convoys and the mercenaries, Bruce and Nosferatu had recovered more than twenty times that amount. Fortunately, Bruce had remembered the merits of carrying money on one’s person at all times, in this case five percent of the spoils of war.

He handed the bag over to the doctor, who looked inside and decided that it was sufficient payment to fulfil the Bat’s request.

Once he’d dropped Snowflame off at the hospital, Bruce returned to the drug baron’s compound to find that Nosferatu had restrained all of the mercenaries and were gathered upwind of a fire in the centre of the compound.

“ _We burnt the drugs,_ ” Toño explained _. “Moved upwind of the fire so we wouldn’t get high from the smoke._ ”

They left once they saw helicopters approaching.

/\\-^|^-/\

Snowflame was the first drug baron to be defeated by Nosferatu, but he wouldn’t be the last. Bruce had trained the bandits well and now they were a force to be reckoned with. The vigilante knew that, with Abuelita as their leader, the group was in good hands. It was time for him to go home.

The bandits - now on their way to becoming folk heroes - celebrated their victory in Santa Philippa, three days after the battle. Bruce was hesitant to attend, but Miguela convinced him to come. He wasn’t one for the energetic dancing (the only dances he knew were capoeira - which was more of a martial art - and the waltz), so while a dozen and a half people were dancing around the bonfire, he was one of another half dozen playing the drums to provide a rhythm.

The morning after the party, Bruce got ready to go to the nearest airport and call Alfred. Before leaving, he made sure to say goodbye to each and every member of Nosferatu.

Each farewell was different. A grudging handshake from Toño, a “ _good luck_ ” from Valeria, a nod from Abuelita, a tearful hug from Miguela - she didn’t want him to leave, but she understood why he had to.

By the time Alfred arrived in the private jet, Bruce knew he’d see Nosferatu again someday. Right now, the Bat had work to do in Gotham, and so did Bruce Wayne… but one day both personas would be doing the same kinds of work everywhere in the world.

/\\-^|^-/\

Has Snowflame been in a hospital? Snowflame can’t remember.

“ _Oh bow bow_.”

Who is singing?

Snowflame doesn’t know where he is. Snowflame is walking and Snowflame can see trees.

“ _Oh Yeah... Oh Yeah... Oh Yeah_ ”

Snowflame can see a little blue box-shaped robot.

“The moon... beautiful”, the little blue box-shaped robot says in his little blue box-shaped robot voice. “The sun... even more beautiful.”

A bus! Snowflame can see a bus!

“ _Oh Yeah... Oh Yeah... Oh Yeah_.”

Who is singing!?

The bus door opens. There’s a man driving with a massive beard and crazy eyes. “Hey, Mr Snowflame! he asks. He sounds like he’s from the north of England. “What are you doing? Did you get in a fight?”

Snowflame thinks so. Snowflame looks at the driver.

“You want a lift?”

Snowflame gets on the bus.

“ _Beautiful_.”

“ _Oh Yeah... Oh Yeah... Oh Yeah_.”

Who’s singing!?

Snowflame sits down next to a bald man.

“I’ll bet you never smelled a real bus before,” the bald man says in a Scottish accent. “Gummi bear?”

Snowflame takes the gummi bear.

“ _Good time.”_

Who!? Is!? Singing!?

_“Chicka chicka.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the final chapter. That final scene was weird, huh?  
> Also, originally I wanted to show Manta fighting Oliver, Shado and Sara, but when it came to writing it, I hit a blank.  
> The sequel is going to be set in Gotham again and will focus on developing things there, but before I post that I might post some more of my Batman Saga art.


End file.
